Autumn Song
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Autumn Song

In harvest time when sibyls draw
Vague aug'ries from the waning moon
And Summer's leaves turn red and fall
The gypsy strums an ancient tune
Upon his father's mandolin --
When Autumn's fruits are gather'd in
And wild geese take to the sky
When spiders stow their eggs away
And sheaves of hay are piled high
Then does the patch-work gypsy play
The tired land a lullaby

Come, gentle sleep now to the land
Weary the new-mown field
Softly the reaper stills his hand
Contented with this year's yield
Sleep gentle Earth, thy labors done
Hid snug in thy leafy bed
Sleep while the steadfast wynter sunne
Keeps watch in the skies o'erhead
Sweet apple-scented breezes blow
Cattle are lowing deep
Warm'd by the hearth-fire's amber glow
Sleep, weary mother, sleep

Michael Pendragon

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